


Improbable truths

by dearly



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Post S4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-09-23 00:36:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9631904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearly/pseuds/dearly
Summary: He only finds it by accident stuffed in the back of the desk drawer while he’s trying to locate Sherlock’s penknife - a small black velvet box buried beneath a pile of papers.





	1. Chapter 1

He only finds it by accident stuffed in the back of the desk drawer while he’s trying to locate Sherlock’s penknife - a small black velvet box buried beneath a pile of papers. 

He sits frozen for a minute staring at the item so incongruously situated before his curiosity makes the decision for him. He checks first over his shoulder to make sure he’s still alone in the room before carefully taking the box in hand and springing open its lid. Though he knows what to expect given its size and shape, and the fact that he’s held an almost identical one in his hand before, it’s still a shock to see the ring nestled inside—a no-longer hidden treasure.

It has a delicately carved golden band with vines and leaves spanning its circumference and a small round diamond in the center that brilliantly glitters in the afternoon light streaming through the window. There is a vintage quality to it, perhaps because it is old and not just made to look that way, though the stone appears to be newly polished—the exact opposite of the gaudy baubles found in Hatton Garden shop windows. The ring is obviously unique, perhaps one-of-a-kind, and has been chosen for the wearer with great care.

He feels guilty but he can’t stop staring at it. Sherlock’s had jewelry in his possession before but it’s always been stolen goods that are waiting to be returned to its owner or handed over to Greg. But this... _this_ was something far more intimate, far more personal than anything that has ever been in this flat. 

He’s too much in thought that he doesn’t hear the man himself come up the stairs until he bursts through the door and catches him red-handed.

“Ah,” Sherlock says after a moment’s pause. He removes his scarf and coat looking a bit sheepish as though he is the one who has been found out.

“I didn’t mean - I was just—” John sputters stupidly before he can make himself coherent. “I’m sorry. I was looking for something and it was just sort of - _there_.”

Sherlock crosses the room and takes the box from his offered hand. He removes the ring and holds it between thumb and index finger, examining it carefully in the light.

“Well?” he asks with obvious amusement at John’s surprise. “Have I made a good choice?”

John blinks and stares. “You mean...you’re actually proposing to her?”

Sherlock’s brows furrow. “Of course. Isn’t that quite obvious?”

“I know it’s been going well for you two, but I just didn’t think that you were into the whole marriage... _thing_.”

A smile forms at the corner of Sherlock’s mouth. “I didn’t either. Until—” He twiddles the ring between his fingers. “I bought it the week after we started...you know.”

He waves his hand dismissively.

“ _Dating,_ ” John says finishing for him.

“Ugh. Such an adolescent term. The English language can just be so terribly unimaginative.” Sherlock collapses into his chair with a huff but his composure softens as he puts the ring back in the box with gentle reverence.

“But that’s what us _normal_ people call it when you spend lots of time together, going out, staying in.. _Wait_ , you bought the ring a week after you got together. That would’ve been, what, eight months ago. You mean you’ve had it right here all this time?”

Sherlock blinks. “Yes.”

“But... _a week_. How did you know so soon? _You_ of all people, who’s said that sentiment is a weakness and love is a distraction and all that nonsense.”

Sherlock considers the question for a moment before handing the box to John to put back in the drawer.

“As I’ve told you so often before, John, whenever you have eliminated the impossible whatever remains,  _however improbable,_ must be the truth. Yes, I used to think love was the impossible part of the equation, for me at least, so I tried stripping it away from my life with the excuse that it was just a distraction. That left me with nothing, only an emptiness in my life that I tried to fill with anything to take my mind off of it - drugs, work, busyness. But what I realized when I thought Molly was in danger and afterwards when I had time to think and when we finally got to talk was that I had been discounting what was right in front of me. The love was there, both given and returned. It seemed at the time like an improbability but when everything else is taken away it’s still  _there_. The love is the truth and once I realized that I knew I didn’t want to be separated from it or her again. Why wouldn’t I want to marry her?”

“But you haven’t asked her yet?”

Sherlock stands and leans his hands on the mantle with his head bowed slightly. “I know _I’m_ ready, but I don’t know if she is. Yet.”

John opens his mouth about to give him the speech again - the one where he calls him a bloody idiot and tells him to go get his girl - but he stops because it’s obvious that Sherlock is taking it seriously this time and seems genuinely concerned.

“You’re worried she’ll say no?”

Sherlock spins around. “Were you?”

John leans back in the chair feeling the familiar ache of what he’s lost creep back in his chest. “Terrified. Stressed about it for weeks. But then my friend came back from the dead and sort of ruined it all for me anyway.”

He tries for a smile but Sherlock doesn’t return it. The sadness of their shared memories hang like a weight between them.

John clears his throat. “I can’t speak for Molly but I’ll tell you what I know. I know that Molly loves you. I know that you love her even more and that you are a bloody idiot for not realizing it sooner. I know that you’re the luckiest man in the world to be able to share that kind of love. Just be honest with her and ask. If she’s not ready she’ll say so, if she is then you’ll save both of you a lot of wasted time.”

Sherlock nods and remains quiet as he thinks.

When Sherlock heads to his bedroom later, John, while putting the ring back in the drawer, catches an engraving on the inside of the band that he didn’t notice before: 

_**Nunc scio quid sit amor**. _

_Now I know what love is._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The buying the ring after a week of dating is lovingly borrowed from Jim Halpert/The Office. 
> 
> I kind of want to continue this story now but just saying that worries that I'll jinx myself. So perhaps...
> 
> As always find me on [tumblr](http://thiscaringlark.tumblr.com)!


	2. Chapter 2

He feels strangely conspicuous walking along the pavement, as though the whole of London can see the box that he clutches tightly in his pocket and is judging him one way or the other for it. But upon closer examination the faces passing by him barely register his existence as they hurry along and he realizes that, even for _him,_ he’s been too much in his own head. Usually it’s comforting to be swallowed into the anonymity that the city provides but today it only unnerves him. Today he would welcome the random mugger or stranger on the street corner to shout obscenities at him—anything to serve as a distraction. Unfortunately, everyone in his vicinity has chosen to be obnoxiously obedient and law-abiding. 

It’s not that he doesn’t trust his own feelings. As he’s already explained to John, he’s more in tune with his feelings than he has been in ages. There’s a peace that has settled upon his life since he’s been with Molly and he’s never felt happier—but he wants to make sure he’s doing what’s best for both of them. All he really wants is for her to be happy.

John’s already given his advice on the matter and while he appreciates an opinion from someone’s who been the situation, he still doesn’t quite _know_ —what to do, what to say, _anything_. It’s such new territory, which is both thrilling and terrifying.

He figures if he carries the ring around with him soon enough he’ll know when _or if_ the moment is ever right.

He finally arrives at Bart’s and finds it surprisingly quiet for a weekday afternoon. The labs and hallways are empty but a distant peal of laughter leads him to a break room where a crowd is gathered and sipping from plastic champagne flutes. 

“Sherlock!” he hears before he sees her. She emerges from a group gathered near a makeshift bar in the corner of the room.

He raises a skeptical eyebrow causing her to laugh, which deepens the shade of pink in her already flushed cheeks. 

“Sam, one of our lab assistants just got engaged to Julia who works upstairs in cardiology so the department is throwing them a little party,” she explains. There is a gleam in her eyes, whether from the alcohol or from the celebratory mood in the room he doesn’t know but he has to resist the urge to kiss her. “Do you want some cake?”

Suddenly the thought of someone else getting engaged at this very moment seems so ludicrous an idea that he nearly spills his secret by remarking on it before he quickly catches himself and instead silently accepts the piece of cake.

_He’s never been good with secrets._

The faces in the room are mostly familiar though he can’t remember many of the names belonging to them. Molly leads him around making introductions, or re-introductions when necessary, and while her coworkers attempt polite conversation with him he can read in their subtle looks that they question her judgement for choosing such a partner.  Thankfully, she seems unfazed.

As with most social events, he ends up standing at the periphery watching the scene unfold before him while nursing a half a glass of flat champagne that someone shoved into his hand. Molly makes concerned eye contact with him several times while she mingles but he gives her nods that say he’s perfectly content and she needn’t worry. 

When someone turns the music up, he figures he’s made enough of an appearance and slips out the door to take advantage of the quiet lab.

Molly finds him later at the microscope studying a fresh batch of skin cell specimens.

“Hey,” she says in a sleepy whisper. She’s standing at his side, but he wraps his arm around her waist to draw her even closer. “I didn’t know you were coming by today. I thought you were working on that murder case in Greenwich.”

He shakes his head. “Only turned out to be a five and therefore not worth my time.”

It’s amazing how indifferent he feels as he says it. Dull cases used to annoy, even enrage him, but now he finds himself grateful that he’s picky about the work he takes on because it means more time with the person he cares about most. His days spent in boredom are a thing of the past, replaced, instead, with an odd sense of freedom that he’s still getting used to.

Then the realization occurs to him, this is the room where they first met years ago when he was just starting his career as a detective and she as a pathologist. It could be the perfect—

“I’m glad you’re here because there’s something I want to talk to you about,” she says breaking into his reverie.

She pulls away from him as she says it making him immediately tense.

“Oh no, it’s nothing bad,” she says with a nervous laugh at his reaction. “Actually, it’s the opposite. I-I’ve been offered a fellowship at the University of Manchester. It’s only a semester long but I’d get to focus solely on my research projects and finally get to finish my paper without having to worry about any teaching or lab commitments. Mike submitted my name and they accepted me almost immediately.” She pauses and takes in a deep breath. “I know that six months is a long time but—”

“You’re right,” he blurts out before realizing his unfortunate timing. “No, what I mean is that is wonderful news.”

“Really?” she says exhaling loudly. “I was worried you might be disappointed since things have been going so well for us— _finally_.”

He takes her hands in his and squeezes tightly. “You’ve worked incredibly hard for an opportunity like this and you absolutely deserve it. I couldn’t be anything but proud of you, so don’t worry on my account. I’ll keep things in order here while you’re gone.” 

She reaches for his face and pulls him in for a kiss that leaves him breathless when they separate.

“Thank you,” she whispers as she holds his face in her hands. “I’ve got to go help with the clean-up but we can talk more about it later.”

After another quick kiss she leaves the room and it’s only then that the reality of it sinks in. _Six months_. Six months, _half of a year,_ without Molly.

The guilty voice in his head reminds him of his own two-year absence and how hard it had been for Molly during that time when everyone else thought he was dead. He really has no right to feel any kind of disappointment and if he does he certainly won’t be sharing it with Molly.

It’s not like they won’t see each other. It’s only a couple hours by train so he can visit often, although he knows that Molly’s leisure time will be limited. A few hours at a time on weekends, perhaps? The thought makes his shoulders sag. These past few months have spoiled him.

She’s hinted early on in their relationship when talking about Tom that she never wants another long engagement. Originally, he thought this meant that she didn’t really see herself getting engaged or married again, but now he realizes it may have been due to his own insecurities.

But with a six-month separation looming, he abandons any further ideas on proposing. No one wants to be separated at the beginning of their engagement, do they?

He sends her a quick text to let her know he’s leaving and makes the long walk back home to think it over. His decision is made somewhere along Southampton Row and upon arriving at 221B he puts the ring back in the drawer before slumping into his chair.

_He’s never been good at waiting either._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos/comments/feedback! I'm glad people were interested in more of this story because I knew I wasn't finished with it yet. Hope you like it! I'm thinking there will be one more chapter after this.
> 
> Some of you can probably tell that I'm sticking with The Office for inspiration. ;)


	3. Chapter 3

She adds the last box to the pile by the door that are awaiting their shipment to her new flat and pauses a minute to wipe the beads of sweat from her forehead. Toby, who has been following at her heels, moves carefully around a stack while looking at her with wide-eyed concern. He gets antsy about even the slightest changes—it took him several weeks to get comfortable with her new sofa being in the room and then another week until he would even lay on it so his reaction comes as little surprise to her. Looking for reassurance, he begins to rub against her legs until she bends down to lift the hefty tabby cat and gives him the necessary ear scratching.

“Don’t worry buddy, you’re going to be in good hands with Meena,” she says, snuggling her face in his soft fur. He responds with loud purring, momentarily appeased by the attention.

She’s been incredibly lucky that her best friend had decided to move just as she was looking for someone to sublet her flat. One of the people she trusted most in the world would be looking after her home—and cat—while she was gone, therefore relieving a great deal of the stress she felt about the already difficult situation.

After a whole day of packing and heavy-lifting her muscles are screaming at her for a break, so after stopping in the kitchen for a large glass of water she gives in and collapses onto the couch with an exhausted sigh. Toby, having had enough cuddle time, struggles away from her arms and jumps down to further inspect the boxes disrupting his otherwise calm existence. Molly closes her eyes and after mentally running through her checklist for the move her mind drifts back to the events of the previous night.

Mrs. Hudson had been kind enough to throw her a going-away party but the excitement of a new adventure and the well wishes from her closest friends had been dampened somewhat by a strange, almost tense energy – and she knew it hadn’t been just her who’d felt it. The gathering had been meant to be more congratulatory than a goodbye, but she couldn’t help but walk out of the Baker Street flat feeling an emptiness at the thought of leaving London even for a short time.

It hadn’t helped that Sherlock had been strangely reserved the whole evening. She could almost feel his restraint, like it took an almost physical effort to hold in whatever it was that he wanted to say. She’d decided against trying to force it out of him, not wanting to leave on a bad note, but now she wondered if that had been the right decision.

Mrs. Hudson had only invited their closest friends—John, Greg and Sally, and Meena—which had made for an intimate gathering and reduced the stress that she usually felt in social situations. She might actually have been able to relax completely if it hadn’t been for Sherlock’s odd mood, but the cake and several beers had helped as the night went on. 

Though now, she thought rubbing her temples as her head throbbed, maybe the booze hadn’t been such a great idea the night before she needed to finish up packing.

 

 

Two days later, the boxes have been shipped off and she’s on a train heading up north having left John and Sherlock behind on the platform. After Sherlock had kissed her goodbye, once, twice, and lingered after the second, she had noticed a look shared between he and John, which she replays over in her mind, almost as if a silent question and answer had been exchanged. But whatever John had been wondering was lost on Molly as her train departure had been announced and she hurried to board. 

The last goodbyes have been given and, ready or not, she’s off to her new life.

 

* * *

 

The first few weeks fly by as she gets settled into her new routine. When she’s not sleeping in the tiny flat provided by the school, she’s either in the lab or in her office typing her paper. For an introvert like herself, it’s an ideal situation and being able to focus on her work without all the other distractions means that she is making quick progress. 

During her nightly phone calls with Sherlock, she tells him excitedly about the progress she’s making while fighting off the tinge of homesickness at the sound of his voice.

His first visit happens a month after the move. She knows he’s given her space to get acclimated to her new environment but she almost wishes that he would show some sign of impatience about it. He’s too calm about the changes and it sets her on edge—the opposite of what she knows he intends.

When she meets him at the train station, she’s surprised when her eyes well up but she doesn’t even feel self-conscious about it because of how happy she is to see and touch him. He lets her hold him even as a few other passengers grumble when they are forced to walk around them on the busy platform.

She takes the weekend off and they explore the city that she’s hasn’t had time to see. It’s a glorious two-day break consisting of sleeping in late and strolling through the streets hand-in-hand with occasional stops in bookshops and cafés. It feels like a luxury waking to a warm Sherlock beside her in the bed and she doesn’t want to let go of his hand when it’s time to drop him back at the station on Sunday evening.

The following several days are the roughest since her arrival in Manchester, taking an almost Herculean effort to get her mind back into working mode again.

It only takes two weeks for her to ask him to come again.

When they’re together, everything _seems_ normal, on the surface at least. Sherlock is attentive and genuinely interested in her work. He’s working cases only during the week now and seems to be balancing his time well. Molly inquires after everyone back home and is filled in on all their news.

It’s all… _fine_.

But fine doesn’t suit Molly enough.

One night on the phone when he’s being overly agreeable she finally snaps, unable to hold her frustrations inside anymore.

“Sherlock, what’s wrong?”

“What? Nothing.”

“Sherlock, I know you better than anyone. I’ve known since I left that you’re keeping something from me and I’d rather you just tell me whatever it is.”

He takes a sharp breath and there’s a long pause.

“Okay,” he says at last, “but I can’t do it on the phone.”

“ _Sherlock_ , just—“

“No,” he says, firm but calm. “No, I need to say it in person.” 

“Okay, then I’ll come down,” she offers. “I’ll get one of the late trains and come back on early in the morning.”

“No, I’ll come to you.”

She sighs. “How about we just meet in the middle somewhere? Save us both some time?”

She can almost visualize the light going off in his head and immediately hears rustling in the background. “Yes - yes good idea,” he says. There’s a pause and she can hear him typing on his laptop. “Can you make it to the station in a half hour? There’s a train to Birmingham leaving then.”

Checking the time, she figures if she can get a taxi quickly she can make it. “I think so.”

“Okay.” More typing. “I’ll book it for you and get on the first train I can and meet you there.”

She hurries out the door and manages to snag a taxi quickly. Sherlock texts her the platform number and she feels a thrill run down her spine like she’s having some kind of clandestine meet-up even though it’s only her boyfriend.

Once she’s settled on the train and it’s pulling out of the station, she leans back in her seat, closing her eyes to let her brain decompress. After spending nine hours that day at her computer working on her paper, it’s disorienting to be suddenly hurtling across the country and her mind is still trying to catch up with the change in routine.

Opening her eyes, she looks around the train car to establish a sense of reality. There’s a few people scattered about but it’s mostly empty as the commuters have long since returned home. Looking out the window, the darkened landscape passing by provides little distraction.

She looks down at her lap and realizes that all she’s brought is her wallet and phone and the last thing she feels like doing at the moment is scrolling through Twitter. It’s been nice being caught up in her work, in her own little bubble where the bad news of the day can’t touch her. If it weren’t for the separation, she thinks she could get used to this hermit lifestyle. If only she had her own bed, and cat. And Sherlock.

Leaning her head back again, she begins mulling over the reasons why Sherlock was adamant about seeing her in person. Knowing Sherlock, it could be anything. Maybe he wants to swab her cheek to check her DNA for genetic abnormalities.

But since hanging up the phone, she’s felt anxious and now that she’s thinking about his words again and the tone in his voice she starts to feel a rise of panic imagining the worst.

One of her fears since the beginning of their relationship was that Sherlock would reach a point where he gets scared and flees. She knows his experience in dating is near non-existent and she worries that at the first sign of trouble or insecurity he will decide it’s not worth it. This separation has been the first real test and it’s hard not to think that it will have some effect on determining their future from here on out.

The pressure weighs upon on her shoulders. She tries doing a few stretches to shake the worries away.

Even without delays, the journey to Birmingham takes too long; every minute feels like ten. As her mind gradually runs through every scenario, she starts getting more agitated and fidgety.

When they finally arrive at the station, she’s off the train while the other passengers are still collecting their bags and heads in search of the correct platform.

She doesn’t know which train he’s on, but looking around he hasn’t arrived and there’s nothing due from London for at least a quarter of an hour.

Dismayed, she finds a bench near the platform and waits. And waits.

A half an hour later when her sitting has turned to pacing, she sees his dark silhouette emerge from a throng of people departing a train. She waits for his eyes to find hers and when they do her heart warms instantly. His features, normally cold and severe, brighten with a smile at the sight of her and he pauses a minute to take her in.

It’s a good sign - his smile. Whatever he’s here to tell her can’t be all that bad.

But she’s still concerned.

As he starts walking towards her, she runs up to him unable to wait a minute longer and almost flings herself at him before wrapping her arms around his middle.

His deep laugh echoes in his chest as she rests her cheek against it.

“It’s good to see you too,” he teases before continuing a softer tone, “I’ve missed you.”

She pulls back, holding him at arm's length as she searches his face for some kind of clue. It’s the first hint at frustration that he’s given since she moved.

She breathes a sigh of relief. “I thought you might have brought me here to say you wanted to break up.”

His jaw drops slightly and he looks genuinely stunned. “What? No. Why would you think—“ His head sags and he closes his eyes for a moment. “No. I’m sorry if that’s the impression I gave. I’m rubbish at this.”

She rubs her hands along his upper arms, trying to ease his tension. “Sherlock, it’s okay. Trist me, this hasn’t been easy for me either. Just tell me what’s wrong. I know there’s something that’s been bugging you and I just want to help you.”

“But that’s just the thing – there isn’t anything wrong. I mean, this situation isn’t ideal, of course, but it’s temporary. It’s just the timing that’s—” he sighs, looking more frustrated with each word he speaks. “I’m making a ruddy mess of this. Aren’t I?”

“Before you left,” he starts again, “I was going to ask you something, something that had taken me awhile to work up the nerve. But then you got your fellowship and while you were busy planning to leave I didn’t want to cause you any kind of distraction so I didn’t ask.”

“Ask me what?”

He stands motionless for several moments with an almost pained look on his face. She starts to make a joke when he suddenly takes her hand and lowers himself to one knee.

“Molly, I’m a fool and an arsehole, as you’ve seen time and time again, and totally undeserving of your love, but the fact that you still choose to be with me makes me want to spend each day trying to be the man that does deserve you. I love you more than I can express in words or actions, but I will keep trying. Every day that we’ve spent apart has been torture and it’s made me realize how lucky I am to have you in my life. Please come back to London—once you’re finished with your work of course—come _home_ and marry me.” With this, he lets go of her hand to reach into his coat pocket and retrieves a delicate gold ring which he holds out to her.

“Molly Hooper, will you marry me?”

She hasn’t moved, hasn’t dared breathed since he started speaking. The stun of it has left her barely able to process his words.

She looks at the ring, shaking ever so slightly between his fingers. She watches his chest rise and fall, his breathing heavy as he waits for her answer.

And then she looks into his eyes and sees the man she’s always longed for, the one that’s always been there.

“Yes.” It comes out more as an exhale than a word, having been so long kept inside wanting to be said. “Yes, of course.”

He breathes his own sigh of relief with tears welling in his eyes and they share a laugh as he fumbles with putting the ring on her finger.

Their kiss is met with applause from a small crowd, which they just notice, that has gathered nearby to watch, but with the glow of their new engagement neither of them feel the least bit embarrassed by it. Feeding off the energy of an audience, Sherlock dips her for dramatic effect and gives her a second kiss that draws a few whistles and more cheers. A couple people even have their phones out and Molly wonders if she’s going to be someone’s Instagram story for the day.

 

 

Later when they are sitting in a more secluded booth in a nearby café, Sherlock gives her the whole story starting from the phone call with Eurus when he realized he was in love, to his decision to buy the ring and propose, to the past few weeks dealing with their separation.

“I didn’t plan on proposing like this. It wasn’t supposed to be public. I wanted it to be special, you know: fancy restaurant, drinks, a nighttime stroll through the city, or perhaps whisk you off to Paris for a weekend or something.” 

She reaches across the table for his hand, unable to stop herself from glancing at the diamond sparking on her finger. “I don’t care about all that, Sherlock. I just want you.”

The corner of his mouth flicks upward. “I guess I should’ve asked you ages ago then.”

They text a picture of Molly’s newly adorned finger to John and Mrs. Hudson and stay in their cozy spot hidden from the world sneaking kisses and sipping coffee until it’s time to walk back to the station.

Molly’s train is due to leave first so Sherlock waits with her until it’s time for her to board.

“Are you sure we can’t get a hotel room and just forget about our jobs for the foreseeable future? No one will notice I’m sure,” she pleads as the last boarding announcement is made.

“Go,” he says, urging her on. “There will be plenty of time for distractions later.” His eyes shine with a devilish gleam and she grins to herself thinking about all those _distractions_ that lie ahead as she makes her way onboard. The glow doesn’t last long though, because as soon as she finds her seat she misses him all over again.

On the journey home, she texts Meena and receives an instant string of congratulatory messages in all capital letters followed by several teasing questions about whether she can keep Molly’s flat now. Molly realizes then that she and Sherlock still have much to discuss when it comes to living arrangements. The thought of losing her kitchen is a painful one.

John and Mrs. Hudson also send their congratulations though John follows his message with a cheeky: **_it’s about_** **_time_**. She wonders how long he’s known about Sherlock’s plans.

It’s only then that she feels a pang in her chest at the thought of Mary and the conversations they’d had – and disagreed – about this very subject.

“You were right, Mary,” she whispers, wanting to believe by some chance that her friend could hear her. “You were right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is months overdue. So sorry for the wait! It took me awhile to get this chapter how I wanted it. It's a little longer so I hope that makes up for it.
> 
> Still sticking with The Office for inspiration - only the gas station turned into a train station.
> 
> There's going to be one more chapter which hopefully won't take me as long to write.
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and kind comments! This fic is dear to me and I'm glad other people like it too. I'm a sucker for comments so if you leave one I will love you forever. <3
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [@thiscaringlark](http://thiscaringlark.tumblr.com).


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